Hey! Bacon is important!
And it tasted just as good today as I remembered it. It was local bacon, of course. And that pig must have been a mighty healthy, happy Asheville pig right up until the moment it was slain for my benefit, which, I'm sorry but thank-you, pig.
We did some more shopping and visited Vergil at his office. We walked and walked and then we went and got Greta and walked to a farmer's market where we bought heirloom tomatoes and cucumbers and goat cheese with jalapeños and a loaf of artisan bread and everybody was so sweet and the young women are strong-looking and beautiful and the young men are just darling. DARLING!
You know what? I am falling prey to the Cult of Asheville. I don't have the strength to resist it anymore. I'm not even rolling my eyes anymore every time I see the words "local" or "in-house" or "on-site." I am just digging it. When we were eating breakfast this morning a family came in and sat down and an old long-gray-haired grandfather held his darling little infant granddaughter who was plump and jolly and all dressed in pink and I just cried. Just cried. I am loving the kids with dreads and tattoos and sweet smiles and the hippie-hipster blend of it all and I am just too tired and stoned on endorphins from walking up and down hills to summon up much cynicism about any of it. Yes, it takes a real sense of first world entitlement to mention that the tap water in the coffee shop is filtered but so the fuck what?
It's all pretty darn lovely.
Tonight Vergil has circus band practice for the VOLUNTEER CIRCUS and so Jessie and May and Greta and I are having a night in. We're going to eat frozen pizza with all sorts of lovely things added on and we're having a little cocktail and "Bull Durham" is on the TV. Yes. I just watched it. It bears repeating. Over and over again. I bought an enamel-ware pot with a lid today for my kitchen compost at home and somewhere very nearby someone is singing and playing guitar.
There was a sweet old couple at the farmer's market today playing guitars and singing and I put two bucks in the tip jar. There was a woman wearing her baby on her back in a sling and I asked if I could pat that baby's butt and she said I could and I did and then we hiked on back to Jessie's house with our heirloom tomatoes past all the houses with blooming flowers in the yard and it's just been a real good day.
I feel so lucky. I can still feel that sweet plump roundness of that sturdy little boy's butt through the fabric of the sling he was so securely held in on his redheaded mama's butt.
Lucky in Asheville, lucky in life.